


The True Rhythm of Our Hearts

by abbysojee



Series: Golden Sand [6]
Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers, The Spies are Foreverse
Genre: Jazz - Freeform, Literary References, M/M, Mixing it up with some music
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:28:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23763847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abbysojee/pseuds/abbysojee
Summary: Owen’s parents danced to keep the darkness at bay. Once, Owen and Curt follow in their footsteps.Another time, they do not.
Relationships: Former Owen Carvour/Agent Curt Mega, Owen Carvour & Agent Curt Mega, Owen Carvour/Agent Curt Mega
Series: Golden Sand [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1389760
Comments: 2
Kudos: 36





	1. The Time Before

**Author's Note:**

> I would recommend listening to Louis Armstrong's "West End Blues" while you read. Relax your shoulders, un-clench your jaw. Drink some water if you haven't already, and let some smooth, smooth jazz transport you.

An apartment, London, 1940

Owen grew up on jazz. He was nine when his parents died, old enough to remember them swinging around to it in their tiny apartment. His father had been a joking man, laugh and age lines fighting their own war on his face. His blue eyes sparkled mischievously, as if he was always joking with someone. Owen’s mother had been much more serious, and very beautiful. Owen took his brown hair and solemn airs from her. She worried constantly and prayed feverishly for her sisters in Austria. In the last years, the only time Owen saw her smile was when she was dancing. 

His parents went out every Friday evening, leaving Owen with their neighbor Mrs. Devorah, who was very old and spoke Hebrew like she expected everyone else to understand her. They came back smiling, speaking fondly to each other about their first date, or their wedding, or their honeymoon, or something else sappy and romantic. They never took Owen with them on these nights out, but his mother taught him the waltz in their living room, pacing around and laughing as he tripped over his own feet. 

Without fail, every time, his father would say, “Come on, son, I’ll show you how to _really_ dance.” He’d put on one of his prized Louis Armstrong or Benny Goodman records, difficult to come by even _before_ the war started, and offer his wife a hand. Owen never complained about losing his dance partner. It was enough to watch two people so in love. 

For a long time, Owen doubted he’d find a love like that.

An apartment, Zurich, 1955

He brings Curt Mega to his apartment in Zurich on their 19th meeting. They enter slowly. Owen watches Curt like a hunter watches a deer, waiting for it to scare.

Curt gives the apartment only a cursory glance before beelining towards the record player in the corner. Owen knows it’s probably too big for the space, but he can’t give it up. While not the exact same record player that lived in the Carvour apartment, Owen has gone to extraordinary lengths to buy a similar one. Whenever he misses his parents or his old life, he puts on a song and sulks. 

Curt sorts through the records as Owen sets his gear bag on the counter. He hadn’t exactly expected _this_ when he had brought Curt home with him, but it’s nice. He leans against the counter and watches the other agent, a smile playing on his lips. 

“Fan of Louis Armstrong?” Curt says, raising one of the records. He has an eyebrow raised, already knowing the answer.

“That bad?” asks Owen.

“No, just a little obsessive. I’m pretty sure you have all of his music here.”

“My dad was a big fan of jazz. Armstrong was his favorite, but he liked pretty much every artist out there.” Owen shrugs as if to ask _what can you do?_

Curt’s eyes widen. “You’ve never mentioned anything about your parents before.”

“Neither have you.”

Curt’s smile is crooked. “There’s nothing to say. My mom’s not much of a jazz fan. I’m pretty sure she’s in love with Frank Sinatra, though.”

“I don’t blame her - he’s _very_ handsome. I might be in love with him too.”

“Shut up,” says Curt. He rises from the ground, record in hand. Soon, the opening notes of Armstrong’s “West End Blues” flutter throughout the apartment. “Dance with me,” says Curt. 

Owen’s heart gives a flip. “I had no idea you were such a romantic.”

Curt winks. “You don’t know a lot of things about me, Carvour. Come on. Do I have to ask twice?”

“A please would be nice,” Owen grumbles, but he takes Curt’s hand. 

It isn’t the overly energetic swing dancing Owen remembers his parents performing, where they threaded around each other and once, memorably, knocked over an armchair. No, this dancing is much more relaxed, a simple sway, the type Owen’s father employed when his mother was sick or feeling blue. 

Owen places his hands on Curt’s waist and Curt rests his on Owen’s shoulders. They move to the serenade, neither speaking, until Curt begins to hum along.


	2. The Time After

A hotel room, Monte Carlo, 1961

Once, when Prometheus was younger, he had parents. He is old enough that the memories have faded, like old sepia photographs. But sometimes a word - a phrase - a smell - hits him like a bullet impacting bone, splintering. The fragments of his old life leave him wounded, licking his wounds. 

Watching Von Nazi talk to Curt Mega is like standing in front of a firing squad.

Memories assail the fortress of his mind. He focuses on breathing deeply, keeping them out, so much so that he almost misses Von Nazi’s words. Almost. “Oh, I can feel a song coming on,” he says, making sure to keep his tone humorous instead of homicidal.

Because Mega is sitting mere feet from him for the first time in  _ years _ . He is impatient, the itch of need under his skin. It feels a bit like something he would have experienced in his old, sepia life; the tug at his navel, the frustration of wanting to touch Curt while their bosses - their suspects - their acquaintances - droned on and on. 

The need is different now. Everything is different.

Watching Mega like this is delicious, voyeuristic, like looking through one-way glass. On one side, Curt. On the other, Owen -  _ Prometheus  _ \- the Deadliest Man Alive - aware that this meeting is so much more significant than the other realizes. 

He will know, soon. Prometheus -  _ Owen  _ \- the Deadliest Man Alive - wants Mega to see his face and know his sin before he dies. Slowly. 

It’s like a dance, this give-and-take. Prometheus - Owen -  _ the Deadliest Man Alive _ wants to tell Curt that, when Von Nazi finally leaves them alone. But it is not that time yet.

_ Son,  _ his father whispers in his head.  _ To be a good dancer, you must be aware of your partner’s body. To lead, you must listen. Take it slow.  _

And Prometheus does. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you all are doing well and keeping sane. It's a dark time, but we're in it together (or we should be; stay inside)! I was very unreasonably upset to figure out that, with this timeline, I couldn't bring myself to state that Mrs. Mega is an Elvis fan. But she TOTALLY is.


End file.
